The Fair Roslin
by Nameless Girl of Manderley
Summary: Exploring the events that led to the "red wedding," and told alternately with Roslin as a young impressionable thirteen year old girl, five years before Robb Stark jilts her, and then again three days after his murder. Will explore Walder Frey in all his creepy goodness and what happens to Edmure and River Run now that Roslin is it's "Lady."


**The Fair Roslin**

"You have the face of a child," her grandfather told her, his gnarled fingers holding her head steady with a tight grip on her chin. "…But the body of a woman." She saw his eyebrows rise and the corner of his tongue dart past his teeth to catch a bit of drool that had pooled at the corner of his mouth.

Pulling roughly at her chin, her grandfather pushed her closer between his thin legs. His face was so close to hers that she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. The gaze he gave her was anything but subtle and she felt the first stirrings of his arousal against her thigh. Clicking her teeth together she shut her mouth with a revolted sigh, she tried to wriggle away but his resolve to keep her close was unmarred. "And the heart of a war commander, perhaps... Or," his tone darkened, "a mewling brat, or even," his voice softened eerily, "the heart of a murdered girl in the river."

He released her with a harsh push. Causing her neck to snap back painfully, and she landed on the floor with a loud thump to her tailbone.

She watched her grandfather turn to his adviser. "And who's did you say she was?"

The wormy second man did nothing to help her back to her feet. "Her mother was a Tully cousin, and her father was your tenth son..."

"...Yes, yes, I know who he was."

Her grandfather watched her coolly as she righted her traveling cloak. "And only thirteen?" Like the curving of a current against the rock, the old man's tone changed yet again. "I remember the day my son wed your mother." There was more derision in his tone than wistfulness. "I see no Frey in you, girl, only the look of your mother. All Tully. The eyes of a Tully whore."

She could feel her cheeks reddening. "Please, grandfather...?"

"Oh grandfather, is it?" He scoffed. "You could be a bastard for all I know. The daughter of a Tully whore and a fishmonger. Any trollop with a wet cunny could have fooled my son..."

She lowered her head, knowing there was nothing she could say against such a slander from anyone as powerful as Walder Frey, even if he was her own kin.

"Your mother is dead now, I suppose?" Walder's eyes narrowed.

She nodded an affirmation.

"And what do they call you, girl?"

Her eyes lowered to the floor, it was laden with food scraps and deep scuff marks. "Roslin, sir. My mother called me Roslin." She hesitated, biting her lip. "And my father gave me his family name of Frey."

Walder snorted in derision. "You'll be a Rivers for now. Like all the other bastards. Until we can figure out what to do with you."

She made as formal a bow as she felt able to. Anything was superior to another cold night of travel and an empty belly.

"You've a tongue to rival any soldier, girl, barking your way into my keep." Roslin hadn't realized how difficult it would be to gain admittance into her grandfather's strong hold, and she was abashed now to remember how she had yelled and commanded to see Walder Frey. "And the pride of any Tully..." he went on. "Still, you won't find a prettier face among my lot. You may have your uses."

She bowed again, although she was sure nothing Walder Frey said could be considered complementary.

"These are my daughters," he wave his hand dismissively at a large troupe of women slurping cold soup at one of the banquet tables. "And some of my _legitimate_ granddaughters." He said the word legitimate with enough bite to make Roslin flinch. "They'll make do with you." He dismissed her, and without another word he left her alone to face to full table of girls who like himself, were equally dismissive of her. No one even looked up from their bowls or trenchers to acknowledge her.

Roslin moved to a free space at the edge of the table and sat down. The room was chilly, despite a fire crackling in the hearth. She watched the other girls, hoping to meet someone's eyes, but no one looked at her. They didn't even whisper and speak amongst themselves.

The meal was nearly over, and no one served her or shared their portion in kind. With her stomach growling and the hot burn of tears threatening at the back of her throat she wrapped her cloak tighter around herself and prayed to the Seven Gods that she might be shown pity in such a merciless place.


End file.
